A Highlander for Christmas (9 page)

The sheriff looked him in the eyes with a knowing stare, nodded a little and clapped Iain on the shoulder. “We’ll get to them in time, lad. Fear not.”

Even though Iain was the head of the clan now, a leader and old enough to not need a father so much, the sudden feeling of fatherly support, of someone comforting
him
, overcame Iain and he felt a load being lifted from his shoulders. “I believe you.”

Within another half-hour Iain and Ruck sat mounted on fresh horses and saw what looked like a troop of soldiers come around the bend in the road toward them. Iain’s heart thrummed with the sight of them—at least twelve men, and trained. What they were doing in Gretna Green he didn’t know, nor overly care. He’d needed a militia and, and praise be to God, he just got one.

They’d stopped. She couldn’t see where, as they’d put a flour sack over her head, but she felt the sudden lack of movement and Lord Malcolm’s body sway against her. They’d forced her arms around his body and tied them together at his stomach. She’d fought it at first, not touching him nor leaning upon him, but after the first few miles knew it for a fruitless endeavor. If she were to stay atop this horse, she would have to cling to her captor.

Stay alive. I will come for you.

She repeated the words in her head anytime she felt the least nauseous from the swaying of the horse, the least guilty for grasping hold of her captor, in the moments of terror when she heard their plans for stopping for the night and dread for what was to come.

Iain would come for her.
Her husband
would not forsake her.

“Get her off!” Lord Malcolm barked the order to someone she couldn’t see. She felt rough hands grasp her around the waist and pull her toward the ground. She resisted the urge to kick out at him, to fight. She would save that until she really needed it. It would only anger them now.

She felt the man stumble back as he pulled her off and heard a grunt and then her own screech as he pulled her to the ground and on top of him. The scratchy burlap was lifted off her head. She gulped the fresh air, seeing that it was dusk, and rolled off Malcolm’s man, awkward in her movements with her hands still bound together.

“We will camp here for the night. Prepare the tents and a small fire. You there, Reginald—untie her hands and see that she attends her needs. Watch her closely.” He glared at the man in warning. Juliet looked at the man in charge of her and was somewhat relieved to see a younger man, not much older than Ruck. It was a logical choice, she supposed. He bent to the task of untying her hands, a red flush filling his cheeks, dark hair over his eyes. As soon as her wrists were free she shook them, the feeling of pins and needles making her lean back her head and shut her eyes. “My thanks,” she muttered low to the lad.

He couldn’t seem to look at her. No wonder, with the ribald comments among the men about what was in store for her with their lord tonight.

Juliet took a breath and spoke low and sure to him. “If you’ll just walk with me toward that steam there…”

She could feel Malcolm’s eyes on them as she dusted off her skirts. She did not look at him. She couldn’t. Her gaze, instead, scanned the area, seeing green hills on every side and a trickling, gentle stream just ahead. She knew this land. Northern England. They were going toward home—his home.

She washed her face in the stream, picking up the heaviest rocks with one hand and shoving them deep in her skirt pockets. The knife! She’d forgotten Iain had given it to her when Malcolm had demanded that he lay his weapons on the ground. Did she still have it?

With casual movements, still kneeling by the stream, she reached into her other pocket. Yes, there it was. She took a deep breath and imagined having to use it. She swallowed hard, thinking of the blood and not knowing…where did one thrust it? She clamped her teeth together in determination. She would know. She would be so desperate that she would know.

She looked up into the shadows of a grove of trees, stood and said to the young man, “I’ll be but a minute.”

As she neared it, another thought came to her. Dare she? It was growing dark. She had a weapon.

Dare she try and escape?

Chapter Nine

T
he men spread out around the dark campsite, a soft rustling of movement against the chirrup of insects and whisper of flying geese overhead. Iain looked up at the starry sky and took a long breath of the frosty autumn air.
Thank thee, Lord, for thy help. Please now that we should overcome our enemies.

He looked down the sloping valley at the campsite where Malcolm had stopped for the night. There was a campfire being attended to by one of Malcolm’s men, small tents surrounding it. The horses were hobbled to the left under an overcropping of hillside and near a stand of trees. It was a logical place to keep them, out of the elements, but it also made for an easy hiding place for someone to loosen their lines. He nodded, his gaze scanning the area for a woman, for his woman.

His wife.

That he was wed had not really sunk in. Not that he’d had time to consider all that had happened in the last two days. God willing, in a few days he would be bringing home a wife, an English wife to present to his clan and his mother. Matilda MacLeon was a kind and wise woman, but Iain’s throat still tightened thinking of presenting a stranger to her. Juliet would need her support to have any chance of gaining the clan’s approval, but he didn’t know… they would have expected a proper wedding with all in attendance.

A sudden clamoring came from below. Iain sank farther behind the rock he was hiding behind along with the other men in their troop, watching, gauging the danger. Iain squinted in the darkness as two men came from the far side of the fire, a woman, struggling and screeching, between them. His heart dropped to his stomach. It was Juliet. If he strained he could make out some of what was said.

Malcolm came out, an angry march, with his cape flaring out. “What is the meaning of this!”

“She tried to escape, my lord. We chased her down, though, didn’t we, Reggie?”

A slight young man stuttered his agreement. “We got her, my lord.”

“You did, did you?” Malcolm reached out and hit the boy across the side of his head with his fist. He went down like he’d been shot. “Fools, the lot of you. She’s a mere skirt and look at you, breathing heavy like aged men.” The other man released Juliet and backed away before Malcolm could strike him. Juliet stood still now, looking at Malcolm, her face in the firelight determined, her gaze not flinching, remaining on her captor.

Malcolm seemed to enjoy her courage, because he chuckled and took her chin in a tight grip. His voice lowered so that Iain couldn’t make it out, but he saw her face pale while shaking her head no. It was a good thing he hadn’t heard it; it was all he could do to not march toward the man right this instant and put a shot through his head. Iain took a long breath, realizing that he had been practically standing while watching the scene. Malcolm grasped her by the arm and jerked her toward him, walking her toward the largest tent.

Iain crept over to the sheriff. “We can’t wait. He means to…
take her
now.”

The sheriff nodded. “Aye. But we can’t charge just yet. Hold yourself, MacLeon. ’Tis difficult, I ken. But we must wait for a little bit yet, you see?”

Iain did see, the logical side of him did, but the other side, the side that had vowed to protect her over his own life, wasn’t going to wait long.

“I say we create a distraction. Those horses.” Iain pointed to the stand of trees. “We could quickly get two or three men to release them, drive them into the camp, and then they could scurry up those hills to a hiding spot. Several other men can move in close, surround the camp to cover them. I’ll head down, as close as I can get to Malcolm’s tent, and wait. As soon as he leaves the tent to see what is happening, I will take Juliet where we left Ruck and then come back and join the fight.”

The sheriff nodded, looking at his feet. “’Tis a good plan.” He looked back up at Iain, and Iain saw a steely determination light his eyes. “I want Malcolm alive, if God be willin’. He’s to hang for what he did to Henry.”

“The blacksmith?”

“Aye, ’is given name, it was.”

Iain clapped him on the shoulder. “You shall have him.”

Fire ripped through Juliet’s shoulder as Lord Malcolm jerked her inside his tent. Once inside, he flung her away from him so hard that she fell to the ground on a mound of furs that was to be their bed. Light flickered from a lantern, casting eerie shadows of the man who was her captor. He moved like an angry predator, back and forth and back and forth, a wavering shadow that loomed above her.

“You thought to escape, did you?” His voice was low and rasping, a dark mirth underlying his words. “You thought you could outwit me?” He stopped pacing suddenly, turning toward her as a sudden change came over him. There was such rage on his face that her breath froze in her throat. A little sound, a sound so pathetic and terrified, came from her throat.

Oh, God. Please, help me.

He glared down into her face, inches away. “You thought to outwit me!” he whisper-yelled, spittle coming from his lips. He got even closer and grasped her chin hard, shaking her head. “You little beggar. You don’t know who you are dealing with yet, do you?” He moved closer, his breathing heavy and harsh, and then he pressed his mouth to hers.

Juliet screamed against the pressure on her lips and pushed at his shoulders as they crashed into her. She fell back with a sob, his hands going toward her breasts. Panic overwhelmed her—hands clawing, feet kicking, jerking her head away. He reached up and grabbed hold of her hair with one hand, the other pressing harder and harder into the soft flesh of her breast.

Stay alive

The words came fast and sudden into her consciousness. She wasn’t doing this right. He expected—wanted, even—a fight.

I will come for you

Iain was coming. She had to buy time. She had to distract him. She had to play…his…game.

She went limp and compliant. Took a shattering breath and turned her face toward his.

He paused. Reared back and looked at her with suspicion.

“Wait, my lord,” she begged. “Perhaps….” She looked away as if embarrassed, allowing the flush to come up her chest and neck and into her face. “Perhaps you are right.” She turned and looked him in the eye. She made herself believe the next words. There would be no second chance at this scheme. She had to make him believe her.

A tear trickled from one eye and slid down her temple into her hair. “I think…” She paused a moment, as if the words were hard to admit, her chest panting. “…you may have been correct in your assessment at the blacksmith’s shop.”

“Yes?” His eyes grew intrigued but still guarded, very guarded. She had to play on his weakness—his pride.

“I think perhaps I may have not have thought things through and have acted rashly, my lord. Your arguments…” She looked down in mock modesty and whispered, “The things you said about our wealth and power at court as a couple…I had not considered such a life at any length but now I believe. I…I, pray forgive me, am young and impulsive and you were rather distant when we first met. I let a fool’s romantic thoughts of the highlands carry me away.” She let a slow smile slide across her face and looked up at him. “I didn’t realize you had such strength, such passion, my lord. Perhaps we are well suited after all.”

He was fighting it, she could tell by the tightness in his lips and the tremor in his arms braced on either side of her, but he backed away, sat on his heels and studied her as if to judge her words. And his eyes were pleased.

She was almost there.

She cleared her throat. “Might we have something to drink? I should like to get to know you better.” She forced admiration into her gaze.

He wavered, tilting his head and studying her intently.

Her heartbeat was so loud in her ears that she feared he could hear it and detect her game. She forced a small, encouraging smile, a look of promise filling her gaze. She didn’t know exactly how she knew how to give those kinds of looks, but it was something she had always had, something that had always attracted men to her—her voice, which she lowered automatically to suit the web she was spinning, and now these looks, heated and purposeful but with a degree of challenge and patience, like a cat eyeing its prey.